


runaway

by cyanoscarlet



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Driving, Gen, Pre-Canon, Running Away, Saved in the Nick of Time, Teenage Rebellion, XVtober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26853676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanoscarlet/pseuds/cyanoscarlet
Summary: "All hail," the fluttering banners and looping screens all read, quickening your pulse in a way you find most unpleasant, for lack of a better word.You never admit to yourself how much it makes you want to vomit. "Never stand still; always move forward."So you do just that, and never look back.
Relationships: Regis Lucis Caelum & Cid Sophiar
Kudos: 13





	runaway

A nighttime drive should clear your head, you decide right there and then, as the weight of responsibility crashes all onto you and you want to run away from it all. 

You do not yet have your driver's license— no one is above the law— but you have the keys to the car, and your bodyguards are asleep. It's all that matters.

Fortunately for you, no one recognizes their Sovereign as you sneak out of the Citadel in a faded windbreaker and loose sweatpants that make you look more gangly than your late father before you. You thank him, too, for the green cap, tacky as it is, for the way it hides your red eyes brimming with grief and anger and exhaustion at everything.

Insomnia is truly beautiful at night, your people often say, but it is also blinding and stuffy and unbearable and the very last place you want to be at the moment. "All hail," the fluttering banners and looping screens all read, and all that, too, quickens your pulse in a way you find most unpleasant, for lack of a better word.

You never admit to yourself how much it makes you want to vomit. "Never stand still; always move forward."

So you do just that, and never look back.

The coldness of Leide's night air awakens you more than the coffee you had packed in your trunk. You pay no heed to the faint growls from a distance away; physical daemons are no match for the inner ones you currently battle, and the Ring of your forefathers fits snugly on your finger. The phantoms of their arms, too, reside in your otherworldly arsenal, easily summoned to this one with the barest of commands taught to you at a tender age that must not yet know of war, but does anyway.

You've grown weary of asking why at this point— to your beleaguered tutor, to your dog-eared journals through the years, to your father's casket.

It doesn't mean you've learned how to accept.

As the mocking Fates would have it, your luck runs out after an hour of aimless wandering, and the Regalia coughs up dying sputters as it slows down in the middle of the freeway, like a sitting duck— one you would wring at the neck if it existed before you right now, for causing you unexpected trouble this time of the night.

But, really, it's all your fault for recklessly sneaking out when you should be in bed, isn't it?

The growls are louder than before, now— they know where you are, and they're out for blood. Death doesn't discriminate, and neither do creatures of darkness.

Your forefathers' Ring throbs around your finger, instantly thrumming with magic that saps you of your strength even before you can call for it. You summon a greatsword, at the ready— not your father's, because you still can't forgive him for not answering your why.

A trickle of sweat goes down your forehead, yet you do not blink— you are vigilant, hyper-aware, _ready_.

Except you aren't, really. It's why you ran away, and never looked back.

You're not going down without a fight, however— if the legacy of Lucis' last monarch is that of reckless, valiant bravery, so be it. 

It only sounds better in your head than on the national broadsheets, but it makes you feel better, at the slightest.

Your grip on the sword tightens; any minute now— on three.

Two.

_ One— _

Unwelcome shots are fired from behind you, and the coeurls fall dead in precise succession before they could even so much as move forward. You turn to glare at the intruder, who puts down his old shotgun and jerks a thumb at the rickety tow truck behind him. "Next time you want to pull off something stupid like this, Your Majesty, you call me in advance."

The hardness in your eyes soften, despite your still simmering rage. "This is noted." You wordlessly hand him the keys to your car— he always knows what to do.

You let out a sigh of relief, despite yourself, and you know he sees it.

"Oh, and Reggie," he calls out again before getting on the truck, "our nighttime rates are double the regular price, in case you didn't know yet. No one's above the law."

It's only fifty percent more, actually, but Cid's word is law, as far as Hammerhead is concerned, so you only agree with him for now, as you board the passenger’s side beside him.

There will be payback for the next time you visit— in official capacity, at daytime.

For now, though, you will accept his hospitality for the night, and things you are running away from, the next morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [#XVtober 2020](https://twitter.com/He6o/status/1301112640178016258) Day 2 (Royal), combined with Day 6 (Mechanic).
> 
> Regis _is_ Noctis' father, for a reason. Haha.
> 
> [writing blog](http://fifteenleads.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/cyanoscarlet)


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